My Eyes On You
by HoneydewKisses
Summary: You've got a crush on Hunter Clarington. You and your friends go to see their Sectionals performance. Unexpected stuff happens. A HunterxYou fic.


When the lights in the audience dim and your friends begin to whisper excitedly in the seats next to you, you mute your phone and finally look up to the stage. A familiar whistling tune starts up and boys in blazers enter the picture from the sidelines, humming and pursing their lips. Neither of them is exactly hard on the eyes but yours are drawn to the one in the middle, his self-assured smirk making your stomach flutter. Hunter Clarington.

You've seen him around. Sometimes, when your Mum makes you fetch your little brother from Dalton in the afternoon, you like to stop by the practise room and watch their infamous impromptu performances, your Carmel High uniform hidden between the excited boys in the audience around you. And you notice him – of course you do, one does not simply /not/ notice Hunter Clarington – and his confidence, his voice, his passion, his /power/ have made your heart skip a beat since you first laid eyes on him.

But watching is all you ever do, and all you ever will. He's probably got a girlfriend anyway, you think, because that's just your luck and he wouldn't want you even if he didn't have one. After all, he's Hunter Clarington and you are... well, /you/.

That's okay though, as long as you get to watch him sing every two, three days or so, and as long as he keeps coming to the coffee shop you work part-time at, ordering that same black coffee every time and giving you a toe-curling grin when you tell him his order before he can say it himself. On some bolder days, you like to imagine how he'd react if you were to write your number below the coffee shop logo. Maybe he'd smile at you. A girl can dream, right?

You're drawn from your musings by the performance playing out almost directly in front of your nose (you had to get up at the crack of dawn to get tickets for the front seats, but damn if it wasn't worth it). Your eyes follow Hunter's every move – especially those of his lips – and you can't help but chuckle at the chorus. Who'd have known the Warblers could be so daring? It suits them though, you conclude as the boys make their way to the front of the stage with Hunter at the top of their 'pyramid', their dancing all sway and hips and /legs/.

"Here we go" Hunter sings and grins and claps as the boys disperse on the stage, his eyes roaming over the audience, demanding their attention. You're happy to give it to him, your eyes moon-struck and your smile dazed until his gaze darts down the rows, further and further, until he's looking at the people at the front, the left corner, until he's looking at /you/.

Hunter Clarington is looking at you. You think your face might have turned to stone right about /now/ and who needs to breathe, anyway?

A moment later, much too short and far too long at the same time, he looks away again as he launches into his solo, but even though your mind tells you that you're just making it up inside your head, your heart can't help but think that there really /was/ a flash of recognition in Hunter's eyes.

The fact that Hunter keeps glancing back at you during the whole performance doesn't exactly help disprove this possible disillusion, especially during the "Come real close" part or when he bellows "Oh, baby" and tugs at the collar of his blazer, his eyes boring into yours.

But that can't really be true, can it, you think as the song comes to an end and another soloist takes Hunter's place in the next number, because there is /no way/ Hunter Clarington just sang a song about blowjobs to you. No way.

That's what you keep telling yourself as the competition comes to an end and you desperately fight the desire to sneak backstage and congratulate the winning team, because what the hell, you don't even /go/ to Dalton.

You're standing in the parking lot with your friends, still excitedly discussing the best and worst parts of today's performances, when a foreign but somehow still vaguely familiar voice calls out your name and your friends break out in giggles.

You turn around and everything seems to be in slow motion just like in a movie, which is very fitting because in reality a boy like Hunter Clarington wouldn't be walking in your direction with a smirk on his face and his hands casually in the pockets of his pants, eyes fixed on you while your friends give you a slight push forwards and retreat to the background.

Except that he is.

"Hey," he greets and oh my God, you didn't think his voice would sound so much better from up close but hell yes, it does. You should probably stop gaping like a fish right about /now/, though.

"Um. Hi," you squeak back as Hunter advances on you, the predatory look on his face very true to his name. "You... know my name?"

He chuckles as if your question was adorable instead of the embarrassment that you know it was. "As you know mine, right? I've seen you around during practise. And at the coffee shop."

Your eyes widen even more. He noticed. He /saw/. That still doesn't explain how Hunter knows your name however, and the confusion must show on your face because Hunter huffs out a laugh before adding "Don't look so scared. I know your brother goes to Dalton, I asked him."

Well, that's... only marginally less creepy than before, but you can't bring yourself to care because /Hunter Clarington asked your goddamn brother about you/, for God's sake.

"O-oh," you stammer, trying for a smile but probably only managing to look completely smitten, "well, um, nice to meet you. Er, congratulations for making first place."

"Thanks," Hunter replies as his eyes give you a once-over before settling back on your face again. He leans in closer and your breathing hitches. "So you liked it then?"

'Did I like it when you asked me to blow your whistle?' you think and immediately blush at the thought. "Yes! Uh, yeah, I liked it. A lot."

Hunter's grin turns wicked, like he knows exactly what it was you were thinking about just mere seconds ago. "Good."

"Yeah."

Silence settles between you, Hunter looking at you with contemplation in his eyes while you get increasingly fidgety under his stare.

"So," Hunter says and finally relieves you from your misery, "the Warblers are getting together at Dalton for a celebration after this. We'll probably be singing some more, too. Wanna come?"

You answer as soon as you manage to get your lungs to function again, which is quite a feat in on itself, seriously. "Sure! I'd love to!" You most probably look like an overeager puppy right now, but you really, really couldn't care less.

Hunter chuckles again, but there is more warmth in his smile now, more sincerity. "Great. Come on then, you can ride in the bus with us."

As he leads the two of you across the parking lot and towards the rest of the Warblers, you feel like the concrete might as well be an aisle and the bus the altar, and the chattering of the people around you is actually the sound of chiming bells. It's silly, of course, but Hunter-fucking Sex God-Clarington just asked you to his party. You're allowed to be silly on such a momentous occasion.

"Oh, and by the way," Hunter says when you're in front of the bus and about to get in. "I know there are a lot of rumours about Dalton and the Warblers, so I just want you to know that I?" He winks. "Am not even /remotely/ bi-curious."


End file.
